Heartstrings -- Flipsides Tales Side 2
by Soul Hunter
Summary: An "innerhead" view of the only thing that Squall can never have... ever...


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Heartstrings: A Walk By The Old Trail 2

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By Soul Hunter

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Sometimes I find myself envying these creatures. Look at them: so frail, weak and defenseless. And yet they live their short lives in a manner suggesting that they don't have an inkling of the brevity of their existence. They continue on their way, living, loving, giving, fighting, with no second thought of what tomorrow may bring them.

And see their penchant for reckless merrymaking. Don't they realize that at anytime an enemy can pounce on them? Aren't they concerned? Why waste their time in such mundane and pointless exercises?

I would certainly strive to know why if I have the time. But right now, I don't. Right now, I can't spare my attention to all but one. 

And he doesn't look very happy.

In all honesty, this boy fascinates me. He amazes me like no other denizen of this mortal world ever did. He is an epitome of great conflict and contrast, as I have never known anyone who would actually go against everything that he holds as valuable merely as a result of one event. One event that made him aware that he's not alone in this world no matter how much he imposes solitude on himself. For the friendship of four, and the love of one woman, he actually managed to do that which I previously thought impossible – he has changed himself.

I should feel glad… or relieved, to say the least. I never reveled in the kind of disposition he used to wield. So tumultuous, uncertain and insecure, hiding under the false mantle of strength and pride that he tried to personify viciously in order to hide the gaping wound in his heart. And in retrospect, he would have easily closed that wound had he been more responsive to the people who profess their affection for him. But no. Instead, he tried to shun them, as if they bring a kind of disease that will actually bring about his death. He was a very, very hard man to sympathize with.

So that's it. It took the relentless and spirited pursuit of one stunning young lass, coupled with the patient understanding of four of his kind, to finally bring him out of his shell. And like I said, I should feel glad. And I do… but my joy is not complete. I groped for a reason to explain the slack.

And again, it all falls back to this man.

What is his problem? In spite of that moment in between times where he declared that he is not alone, a prominent shade of heavy emptiness is still persisting in his heart. As if all that he has – his friends, mentors, stature, and the woman he loves – are still not enough to completely fill the void. Is it true that some people are just so hard to please?

But I shouldn't be speaking about him this way. I can delve deep into the darkest corners of is soul…

... And I just did. In the midst of radiant colors shining out from his renewed heart, there is one spot, so ominous and frightful, and bereft of any form of life or essence. He has yet to heal one remaining wound. One terribly deep, remaining wound.

I would help him if I can. I want to help him, more than I thought possible for one such as myself. Maybe that's why I've been keeping this faithful vigil ever since he walked out from that dark cavern of compressed time.

But how?

I'm not even half-surprised when he decided to leave the festivities. Perhaps I've been around them enough to develop an aptitude to their way of thinking. I can't stop thinking about it, and I can't help wondering what this gorge could possibly be to be so terrible as to render him partially numb from all the blessing in his life.

Like those two. Well, at least he's smiling at this moment while looking at the two struggling forms of the women who revere him the most. Are they fighting over him?

This man doesn't know when he's immensely lucky.

Now where is he heading? I'm quite at a loss right now. First he stops, deliberates whether to go back to the revelry, or continue on his way. Nevertheless, I eventually found him stepping into a very unassuming establishment. A lonely edifice that appears to have been abandoned for at least a cycle. He walks inside, slowly… and anxiously, if I might add. And…

I know this place.

Is he doubling up? Why am I feeling this aching loneliness inside him? Now he's beginning to see something. What is this? An apparition? The ghost of a gentle face staring at him with the most compassionate eyes I have ever laid senses on. And now, I feel the storm in his soul intensify, steadily building into a ferocious torrent too powerful and complex for me to comprehend. Is this wispy spirit causing it?

No, the apparition is only in his mind. But just the same, it's still causing him much grief. Perhaps too much grief than he can handle, since right now he's already on his way outside. He's probably going back to join his friends in their merrymaking. Might as well. He can definitely use the respite.

But no. He continues on his way outside, seemingly in tent on leaving the safety of the town borders. I guess this is one facet of these beings that I can likewise not fully comprehend. For some reason, they have a penchant for battle stemming from other reasons but the need to survive. They sometimes fight for freedom, for land, honor, or even just plain sport. They are truly fascinating at the very least.

Yet somehow, I don't believe his intention to be that of the search for an opponent. His psyche is too much in shambles right now that he won't be able to perform well in a battle. No, he's in search of something else. Something… that will provide an answer to his gnawing loneliness. I can almost feel my being succumb to his melancholy as I watch him traverse a long trail of worn down grass.

And the more he advances, the more bludgeoning the tempest in his heart grows. Terrible, excruciating, and almost murderous. This pain is eating into him mercilessly… and I can do nothing but watch. I can do nothing but stay myself with the knowledge that I am powerless against this enemy.

A horrible backlash pummels me relentlessly. He is upon his destination, a simplistic spot bereft of any presence… save a slab of smooth stone embedded halfway into the loam. Upon reaching it, he kneels down and solemnly bows his head. Pausing for a short moment, he then pulls off a shiny trinket from his finger and places it on top of the slab.

I can't help but take notice of the inscription:

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In Loving Memory

Raine Loire

I now understand.

Yes, he is surrounded by people who care for him... People who will always be there for him, no matter what the fates may bring their way. And yet, there is a terrible sense of longing brought about by the innate inadequacy that cannot be helped. And no matter how grateful he becomes of the love that they offer him, there will always be this emptiness in his heart that only one person can fill…

… A person he never knew… yet he misses with all his heart and soul…

"… …"

"… Mother…"

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I now feel his tears. I now feel his loss.

He yearns for her; for the love of the woman whose touch he never felt, soft voice that never soothed his ears, and embrace that never gave him comfort. He longs for her, and yet she is gone. Departed… and he never even had the chance to know her.

I wanted so much to help him, to alleviate the brunt of this loss that he suffered way before rationality blossomed in his young mind. But… what can I do? Nothing. I can never take the place of his mother, of the woman who lovingly carried him in her and compassionately brought her into the world. I can never relieve that aching emptiness inside him. And I can never assume the place to fit that terrible void. This is one battle where I am totally helpless. This is one arena where my powers are totally useless.

There's only so much a Thunder Guardian can do for his human.

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-fin-

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Epilogue

Groaning incessantly, a wandering Geezard raises its hideous nostrils in the air, detecting a whiff of a potential victim that it hopes will relieve its gnawing hunger. It turns its unsightly eyes to the left and the right, yet spots nothing. The monster could have sworn the passing of the unmistakable aroma.

In frustration, the ugly beast unwittingly sweeps one of its forelegs over a cold slab of smooth stone. Suddenly, it flinches, feeling a foreign sensation enveloping one of its sharp claws. Bucking its appendage violently, the Geezard struggles in vain to shake off the uncomfortable silver ring wrapped around its talon. So engrossed was the creature in its futile struggle that it failed to detect the approach of a wide-eyed Balamb Garden freshman who intends to capture it – even if it's the last thing he does in his life.


End file.
